


Ioras

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4515081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond and Lindir have their usual morning round.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ioras

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Just a shameless request for some cute, sweet, loving smut. Maybe with Elrond having to try (not very hard;D) to keep Lindir in bed and away from his work” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14338.html?thread=26196226#t26196226).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He should leave, he knows. He has duties to attend to, better ways of being useful to his lord than lounging in bed. But that same devotion binds him, and he finds himself unable to look away from his lord’s sleeping face, much less leave this haven.

Elrond is always beautiful. In the light of day, he stands tall and proud, wise and regal but never arrogant. He’s a joy to serve. He’s a joy to please. In sleep, he looks much the same, but peaceful and untroubled, perhaps a little weary, his years daring to show through. If Lindir could, he’d run his fingers along Elrond’s cheek and play with his dark hair, but it isn’t worth the risk of waking him. Elrond deserves his rest more than most. So Lindir simply watches, guilty but too in love to change. 

It’s the call of a bird that wakes Elrond, his eyes pinching before parting, only a fraction, enough to see Lindir’s steady gaze. They close again, and Elrond lets out a deep breath, adjusting to the cool mourning air, before he murmurs, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, my lord,” Lindir echoes, quiet, in case Elrond should wish to drift back to sleep. Instead, Elrond shifts forward, lifting up the sheets over them with one reaching arm, then looping it around Lindir’s body. It cinches in his weight, drawing him closer. Lindir lets himself be dragged across the sheets, his lord’s strength evident and easy. He’s pulled close to Elrond’s body, where he takes the initiative to lean in for a kiss. He used to only ever follow his lord’s lead, but he’s learned that Elrond prefers them to be equal, in this at least, though Lindir never feels it. He enjoys being at Elrond’s mercy. But he enjoys Elrond’s mouth on his more, and sometimes he can’t wait, like now. The kiss is feather-light, a tad stale but nonetheless pleasant. Every kiss they share is delightful to him. When they’re finished, Lindir snuggles closer, tucking his face into the crook of Elrond’s neck and shoulder. 

Elrond rocks gently into him. Lindir returns it, a small gasp spilling out. Sometimes he forgets, in all of his adoration, that Elrond isn’t just an untouchable deity but a man, still with needs. Lindir always has them. It makes him laugh, sometimes, to think that Elrond used to insist himself too old for his youthful servant, but his libido is as strong as any warrior in their prime. He holds Lindir against him and moves their bodies together, a tandem of warm skin through too-thin robes that hitch and gather. Lindir goes from holding on to clinging quickly, and then he’s mewling and wet between his legs, and he begs in a hushed whisper, “Take me, please.”

“Are you ready for me?” Elrond asks, though Lindir is always so. He used to pine for this after almost every service, stuffing himself full of trembling fingers that were never enough, and that was just the thought. When in his lord’s bed, he could be taken at any minute with ease, comfort, and welcome it. He nods against Elrond’s shoulder. 

He breathes, “Always.” He’s rewarded with a chaste kiss to his forehead, where his ringlet sits once he’s dressed.

He’s gently detangled from Elrond’s arms and pressed down into the bed. Elrond stalks atop him with a warrior’s grace, a curtain of silken hair falling down between them. Lindir threads his fingers in the ends, soft from where he brushed it last night, as he so often does. Above him on hands and knees, a single sheet stretched atop them, Elrond gathers Lindir’s robes up his thighs. The fabric’s bunched around his waist, his legs spreading open. He would reach down to help, but there’s no need, and he’s busy embracing Elrond, arms slipping around his sides to climb to his shoulder blades. With a tender kiss to Lindir’s cheek, Elrond slips inside.

The way is slick and loose and open for him, though Elrond’s size is a marvel every time, long and thick and wondrously hard. It still amazes Lindir sometimes, that his body can please such a great man. Elrond’s face quiets in pleasure, and he leans forward to press his forehead to Lindir’s. Lindir has to hold his shaking hips down, lest he leap up in his eagerness and spear himself too fast. He allows the careful pace, until Elrond is fully inside him, and he’s pulsing hot around it. He clenches once, drinks in Elrond’s quick hitch of breath, and then whimpers in want: begging _more._

Elrond obliges. He pulls a portion out, then pushes back inside, setting into slow, gentle thrusts that leave Lindir quivering. They’ve been driven to rougher times, here and there, but mostly Elrond makes love to him, especially in the mornings, when Elrond is tired and Lindir is languid and happy. He holds on as he’s filled thrust after thrust, until Elrond tilts to bring their lips together.

Sometimes, Lindir wishes he weren’t taking the herbs to prevent himself from bearing his lord’s child, but he knows such an omission wouldn’t be fair. They speak of it little. Someday, perhaps, though Elrond will likely say himself too old. Age means less to an elf, and Elrond’s a wonderful father, a wonderful elf. When Lindir can, he keeps his eyes open to observe every little bit of Elrond’s face and body that he can, but often the pleasure’s too much, and he shuts his eyes to toss his head back, moaning in delight. When he does this next, Elrond licks at his neck, kisses him sweetly, and Lindir wonders what it would be like to be marked with the grooves of Elrond’s teeth. Someday, perhaps. He’ll need to convince his lover that he’s ready, that he wants to be _claimed_ , that he wants bruises in the shape of is beloved lord. 

On a particularly deep thrust, embedded far in Lindir’s trembling body, Elrond dips to murmur into his ear, “You are such an enchanting creature to wake to, my Lindir.”

Lindir, at first, can do nothing but melt. He tries to return the compliment, but all he can manage is, “ _My lord_ —” before another thrust sweeps him away. It likely doesn’t matter; Elrond must know of his ardor. He’s hardly subtle. He tries to capture another kiss, but he’s too overwhelmed, and Elrond does most of the work. Lindir only _belongs_ to him, basking in that luxury. While the thrusts go on and on, an endless sea of _pleasure_ , Elrond pushes Lindir’s robes down own shoulder, revealing more skin to scatter with kisses. Lindir tilts his head away to give room, whining uselessly, noisily. He drowns in this. He tries to run his hands along Elrond’s chest, broad shoulders and lean back, but he loses the wherewithal quickly. Only near the end does he manage to cup his lord’s face and moan, “ _I love you so._ ”

He’s kissed for his reward. Again and again, he’s kissed and driven into, until he’s so hot that he can barely breathe and he can feel all coherency slip from his mind. He tilts back, arching up, and his thighs clutch tight to Elrond’s sides. He comes with a broken cry, while Elrond continues to pleasure him. For that moment, he seems to drift away. He usually finishes first. But Elrond fills him only a short time later, before he’s completely come down, and he wraps his arms around Elrond’s body, enjoying the wet rush of Elrond’s seed. 

When Elrond’s finished, he lifts up, pulling out with a wet sound and Lindir’s groan. Then he slips off, turning to lie on his back, and Lindir, still breathing hard and dizzy, shifts to lie half on top of him. It’s stiflingly hot, but he relishes that closeness too much to care. He lays his head on Elrond’s shoulder, drifting lazily back to the waking world. 

Eventually, he mumbles, “I should work.” It’s a sad truth, though before this development, Lindir was always eager to leave his own bed for such work. He lifts his head, meaning to leave, but Elrond’s hand comes around him, gently pressing him back down. With a needy whine, Lindir mewls, “It is not fair to not attend to my duties simply because my lord has chosen me.”

“You have appointed many of those duties for yourself,” Elrond calmly responds, and when Lindir tilts upwards to look, he finds a small smile on Elrond’s face.

“That is because I love you,” Lindir insists, “and I wish your home to function smoothly.”

The smile deepens as Elrond promises, “My dear Lindir, it has functioned longer than you know, and while your contributions are immeasurable, it will do so even without you for one morning.”

True enough, perhaps, but Lindir still prefers to feel useful. Yet he also prefers the comfort of Elrond’s arms, too difficult to leave. He gives in mainly for his own desire to stay, but he sighs, “As my lord wishes.” Staying with Elrond is always his own wish.

Elrond places a kiss to his forehead and turns to hold him, while the birds outside sing to wake the minstrels.


End file.
